


Hide and Seek

by CrazycatSitter



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol and Drunkeness, Bly is Amused, Clones Are Good Brothers, Gen, Humor, Jedi are Strange, Rex is so done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 22:12:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14174475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazycatSitter/pseuds/CrazycatSitter
Summary: Every once in a while Rex needs to take a Mental Health Day





	Hide and Seek

As much as Rex appreciated having General Kenobi and the 212th assisting during combat, and he honestly did, he just really _really_ hated it when they were there between conflicts. Not because he didn’t like Kenobi and Cody or the others, lets just make that clear, on the contrary, in fact, he liked them a lot, but whenever the two Generals and Commander Tano _weren’t_ involved in active battle or planning missions and on the same ship during downtime, they’d play a variation of Hide-and-Seek and Tag, or more accurately: “Let’s See How Many Times We Can Make Rex Jump Before He Tries To Shoot Us” with each other and whichever brother happened to catch a glimpse of them at the time. 

Rex, like any brother, appreciated a good game every once in a while, and it wasn’t that playing games to decompress was wrong or anything, but the _Jetii_ were another matter entirely. You see, _they_ took a simple game to a whole new level of insanity: Their little games would take days, span the entire Star Destroyer, and involve upwards of sixty brothers at any given time. 

Rex was pretty sure that those _vod’e_ just wanted to get out of work, as whoever happened to catch sight of a Jedi were automatically included, and therefore exempt from active duty through sheer inability to stop them from participating in the latest bout of insanity. 

The slackers.

None of this would bother him of course, if he didn’t have to resort to using the emergency channels to get the Generals to do their _karking_ paperwork! He understood that the war was stressful for Force-sensitive beings, not having been engineered for war the way he was, and that it was part of Commander Tano’s stealth training, but having his superior officers vanish on him was making Rex feel like the only responsible adult aboard aside from Cody, and being all of eleven years lived, was getting to be rather depressing.

Not that this was terrible, or anything, naturally he could handle it like the professional he was, but to have to listen to brothers crawling through the ventilation ducts in the ceiling, and watch Jedi drop down from or climb out of various nooks and crannies that no sane being would try to fit themselves through, could be a little nerve-wracking especially when you just wanted a little peace and quiet in an out of the way lounge, only to have General Skywalker crawl out from under your bench and take off over the bar counter and into the ceiling vents like a flea off a Wookie’s back. Needless to say, after that incident, Rex immediately reported to the Medbay for a prescription of anti-anxiety and hyper-vigilance medication.

He desperately needed a refill.

*

Bly, newly minted commander of the 327th Star Corps strolled up to the bar, on shore-leave and determined to have fun while showing off his new gold cheek tats, mildly tipsy already and aiming for drunk, when he noticed a familiar blonde buzz-cut buried between black-clad arms. Light hair flickering rainbow beneath the strobing neons and glowing brightly from the black-lights, and surrounded by far too many shot glasses than were good for even Jedi, was one of his most adaptable brothers, draped despondently over the polished black bar top, obviously making a determined bid for alcoholism.

“Rex! Whats- ...up?” he stalled out as Rex slanted a blearily and bloodshot look at him over his arm. Plunking himself down on the adjacent stool, Bly waved to the bartender for a shot of whatever poison Rex was partaking in. Rex mumbled something completely unintelligible into his shirt-sleeve before clumsily snatching Bly’s shot-glass from the barista and downing it, still slumped over. Bly sighed and signalled for another with a _keep-it-coming_ type of finger-twirl. 

“Okay, sorry, what was that again? I couldn’t hear you.” Bly wiggled a finger in his ear, raising his voice to be heard over the thumping bass of the DJ’s latest set, eyebrows quirked in puzzled bemusement.

“I _said_ ,” Rex lifted his head and glared, words slurred, “Commander Tano was hiding under my bunk again!”

“Oh. Sooo, I guess that means General Kenobi is in residence?” Bly ventured, moving his new drink away from the Captain, who was beginning to eye up his booz again. Rex gave him a baleful arched brow look that clearly stated _Ya think?_ Bly nodded aside in acquiescence, stupid question.

“So, Tano’s under your bunk, what about the others?” he asked, a peculiar curiosity of such absolute perversity driving him to ask, tossing back his shot of Chandrilan whiskey, the burn pleasant with a smoky after-taste that lingered between the teeth. He could see why General Secura liked it so much, and now he really needed to get a case or two of the stuff for himself.

Rex thumped his head on the bar top in an almost meditative rhythm in a desperate and futile effort to forcibly exorcize the memories via percussive maintenance, before growling and stealing _another_ of Bly’s drinks, this time directly from his hand. 

Rude, he’d been about to drink that. 

“General Skywalker was hiding under the secondary Navconsol on the bridge, pried off the covering and crammed himself inside, kept messin’ up the kriffing holoprojector; and Kenobi was having tea on top of a karking _Aethersprite!_ ” he flung his arms out in exclamation as he nearly overbalanced off his stool, too drunk to care and nearly smacking Bly in the face, looking a little manic around the eyes. 

“An-an-an’ I still don’t know which dumb shiny brought him a _High Tea Service!!”_ Bly gave his brother an obliging shove back upright, keeping hold of his arm as Rex started to list in the other direction. “Complete with pastries! _Pastries_ , Bly!” Rex exclaimed, reaching out to clutch at his brother’s shirt, “The damned _dinii_ actually brought a porcelain tea pot!” Bly was certain that if this hadn’t been Rex speaking, any one else at all would have been in tears at this point, as it was, the Commander of the 501st was hanging on by his proverbial fingernails. “This is all such fekkin’ poodoo!” Rex whined into his hands.

Making a snap executive decision, Bly leaned over the counter to place an order, then hauled Rex and a bottle of some really hard but _pink_ rum of Whatsitcalled from Who-Cares-Anymore that was barely within his price range to the nearest semi-clean table and poured a good quarter down his _vod’s_ throat, his only plan was to get them both so utterly wasted that Rex would forget the entire incident.

In the end, it worked a little _too_ well, as Waxer and Boil of the 212th had to help carry them both to the nearest Alderaanian medcenter that admitted clones in an attempt at preventing alcohol-poisoning, which was a good three miles or so from the club, uphill and on foot. 

Damned pacifists and their anti-war protests. 

The Generals ended up being summoned anyway, no matter that Bly had tried to tell the doctors they were fine and just needed some sleep, absolutely no need to comm General Secura. Really, honest and truly. 

After getting their stomachs pumped and electrolyte IVs inserted, he and Rex were lectured by their highly amused and concerned Jedi about proper alcohol consumption for humanoids, even modified ones, with an undertone of _You could have died, you idiot_ and _I’ll definitely be laughing at you about this later, mark my words._

Turns out that pink stuff was eighty-five proof and not for mass consumption. 

Which they did. 

Enthusiastically.

*

Rex would later set a younger brother by the name of Quick to hunt down and delete all of the holoimages of himself and Commander Bly table-dancing while balancing shot glasses on their heads that Waxer and Boil had taken, complete with a sing-along session of popular operatic numbers and vids with full audio of Rex declaring to a light pole that “High and Dohn’ Peeshk” to be from here on out illegal on Coruscant, never mind that they were on Alderaan at the time. Quick was tempted to keep a copy for blackmail or gossip purposes, but decided that he liked living just a little too much, though, one or two for his private collection couldn’t hurt, right?

Bly never saw the holos, so he could never figure out why his troopers kept humming the chorus line to “My Darling Is A Liisar Bird” from that popular romantic musical currently playing throughout the Core Worlds whenever he walked by. He would never tell anyone, but during battle, he’d turn off the receiver in his helmet and sing the third stanza to the staccato flash of General Secura’s lightsaber, and although some brothers would eventually admit to seeing him bust a few moves during target practice, they could never get a clear recording of it that they’d admit to. 

He liked the soundtrack, so what?


End file.
